On the Path of Grief

We don’t know what the future looks like. What it holds for us.

We aren’t in control, and it feels scary and raw and sets our hearts racing.

When we face the unknowns, whether of death or those of sudden change, of disruptions and turmoils whose faces we have never seen before remember: we have been here before.

Deep in our bones, in our blood. In the molecules that make up the water that make up our cells, we hold the knowledge of everyone who came through hell to get to where we are right now, in this moment. Deep in the earth, the soil remembers too: the feet of the people who walked this path before. The ashes of the things that burnt down to make room for what was built after. The blood that was spilled in sacrifice while standing up for what is right, in the face of something brutal.

If you are reading this, there is a good chance that today and the coming days will be days of grief and grieving for many, many people you love and care for, not to mention yourself. Make no mistake: it will be hard, with ups and downs and ins and outs, and there will be many moments where you won’t know where to turn or what to do for yourself or the people around you. That’s OK. Grief doesn’t have any one path to follow. What grief does do is this: it dulls our senses against what isn’t important and erases our sense of time. It changes our appetites, and it shines light with a clarity unlike any other on what is most important in this short life we are blessed with. When those moments hit you, take a deep breath, close your eyes and remember how powerful you are just by virtue of your being alive.

There is lots of advice floating around about how to stay out of the doom scroll, how to stay in the moment, how to prepare and protect each other, how not to get swept away. How to avoid obeying in advance or attend a protest safely. How to hold the things most dear to you very, very close.

My advice is different. It is simply this: know that this grief too will change us, and grieving can be a gift. Change can be incredibly hard—it can galvanize or it can sterilize. And yes, some of us won’t make it through the evolution we face. Now is the time to let go of controlling the uncertainty we face and instead find strength in ourselves and each other. Find what works for you and keep doing it. Focus on the here and now, on the little pieces of the puzzle that you alone hold, and then when you’re ready, figure out how they fit with your neighbors’ pieces. Your piece doesn’t look like anybody else’s piece: and it is valuable and needed no matter what shape it takes.

We get through this only one way, and that is together. On the path of grief, we hold each other up as we walk side by side, we pull each other along when someone is getting left behind, and we carry each other when we have to. We move in a pack so the wolves in the darkness have a harder time picking out a target. When someone new joins the group we make sure they are safe, and then we find the value in them, whatever that might look like. We spread out when we need to but we never leave the vulnerable alone—we surround them with ourselves. We pivot to a new path when the road ahead is too dangerous, and we always keep an eye out for new resources that pop up along the way.

We take care of ourselves so that we can keep moving, even if how we are doing that care wasn’t in the guidebook.

I love you.

P.S. If you found this blog post via an emailed newsletter link, and are curious how you got here: Bean Sídhe Botanicals has become Prism Deathcare. Feel free to unsubscribe if this isn’t for you, but I hope you decide to stay!